


The Life and Death of The Stan O' War

by ChibiTabatha



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Forduary, Gen, Life and Death of a Boat, Regrets, Stan O' War, Stan O' War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiTabatha/pseuds/ChibiTabatha
Summary: From the decrepit boat they found on the beach, to the brand new shiny boat they use now. Ford's perspective on the Stan O' War.





	The Life and Death of The Stan O' War

Dilapidated couldn’t begin to cover the state of the boat they found as small children. There was half a hull, at best. The mast was shattered and splintered beyond repair. Whatever mechanisms used to steer the boat where long gone. Wood rot was rampant through the whole thing. The look in his brother’s eyes stopped him from saying anything other than, “Let’s do this!”   
  
At first while the boys dragged the boat across the beach, their skin blistering and peeling, there was regret. Regret that he agreed to this ridiculous idea. Regret that he couldn’t convince his brother that this was a bad idea. The boat was heavy, and disgusting. It was all bearable because of Stanley’s attitude. The laughter. The smile. “‘Ey Sixer! Th’s is g’nna be great!” the pure joy.   
  
It was so infectious, “Yeah! I can’t wait!” he laughed out loud.    
  
Eventually his brother and he shared that passion fully. The boat was the most important part of the day. School was fine, home was alright, but the boat was the best. A small safe bubble, away from bullies, away from his father. Just a space for him, and his brother. A space for them to just be themselves. Where he can read his textbooks in peace. Where Stan can read his comics.    
  
The rotten wood slowly was replaced, the hull fully replaced. Stan built the mast and made sure it was stable enough to hold its own weight. Of course built to his very specific measurements and specifications. The mechanics for the momentum would have to come later, when their father might actually pay them for working in the shop. Of course, they were only 12 and  _ yes _ that means they were working under the table, but it was a start.    
  
Then the passion started to wane. He had less and less patience for his brother. For the boat. Yes Stanley had learned how to build and fix up engines. Yes he built a fantastic machine, yes it worked wonderfully, but Stan did not. His performance was lackluster at best, and despite the fact that a grease covered smile always greeted him, it did not sooth his agitation.    
  
His brother remained painfully oblivious, shoddily working on whatever part of the boat Ford directed him in. He always had to go over whatever his brother had done. Re-sand the mast, adjust the rigs and sails, remove unwarranted nails. Spending less and less time with the boat. Less and less time with Stan.   
  
When he left the Stan O’ War behind, he tried to leave that memory, those feelings behind. That’s not all he did. Lying to himself wouldn’t help. Stanford torched the boat. Stood on the beach and watched as his childhood, his safe spot, his hopes went up in smoke. Ash and smoke clogged his lungs, and he may have choked on it a little. The tears on his face were from the lack of oxygen, not the death of his hopes and dreams.   
  
Even through college, even through those first years in Gravity Falls, he would find himself drawing boats. Catch himself looking at water longingly. Scratching out the doodles. Crossing out little blurbs and anecdotes about his brother or the boat. The boat was a closed chapter in his life, far far behind him. As was his brother. With his muse and Fiddleford helping him through this chapter of his life the boat should soon be far far behind them.   
  
How wrong he had been. Sure Stanley had messed up, sure he had made some mistakes. Though some things never changed. His absolute loyalty to his family. The shine in his eyes when he talked about the boat even for a moment. Yet he had tried to put it all behind him, unlike the twin he thought had left him behind. He should have put more faith into his twin what felt like an eon ago.   
  
The hopes and dreams he castaway on the beach that day, they were well and alive in his brother. They had been the whole time. Unlike Ford, Stan had kept those things close. Never gave up on them. How foolish he had been, perhaps had he spoken to his sibling, the animosity wouldn’t have grown and consumed him. So when he asked Stan to help him in the arctic, saw his eyes light up, he felt the hopes and dreams resurface. When the two began looking at boats, and he suggested they name the new boat after the first boat. “O’course not Ford. You knucklehead,” his brother’s voice held slight amusement. “We call this baby the Stan O’ War II,” he slapped his hand against the bare hull of the ship.    
  
Ford smiled, “I think that’s a perfect idea Stanley,” and it was. The dawn of a new era. Respect for the old boat that burned that day ages ago, respect for the future. Painting the name on the side of the hull was not a two person job, but they made it a two person job. Laughter reminiscent of the old days echoed from the past and into the present. The Stan O’ War II was named and a new beginning born from the ashes of their old dreams.


End file.
